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The Pirates of Pondicherry

Chapter 1

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Another episode from the life's tale of Jaquard du Sang

Commissioned by LeChevalier

Once again the deck of the Venom ran red with the blood of the slain. Jaquard du Sang held his blades at the ready, breathing hard, his feet spread in what the people of the Orient would call "mountain stance," giving him ample stability for more fighting should any foe dare to raise his muzzle. But the deck was almost eerily still beneath the cold, silver moon, the enemy that had dared to board du Sang's flagship now lying in slowly-swaying heaps on the deck and in the water about, the Jaquard's own Jolly Roger, a figure of the skeletal Ankou with spear and hourglass in his outstretched bony claw, shining darkly in the cold wind whipping it into a frenzy, as though Death itself were busily harvesting the souls of those now departed. Flashes of sharkfin could be seen in the wine-dark waters, and every so often a body would shudder and jerk, almost as though it still lived, before it was pulled beneath the waves, the only proof of its former existence a slowly-spreading dark stain on the water's surface.

"You bastard!" called out Jaquard, kicking aside a corpse, ignoring its reproachful stare as he went to the side of the ship, his sharp eyes catching the enemy ship that was even then pulling swiftly away, abandoning what few of its crew remaining alive on the Venom. "Come fight me yourself!"

Either the notorious pirate hunter who had been hunting Jacquard was not on board the ship, for it was not possible to see if it was his ship in the night, or else he had decided that now was not the time for the final confrontation between himself and his former pupil. Either way, it left Jaquard standing, his hackles raised, his long black hair wild about his face like tendrils of seaweed, a stray thrown dagger having cut the cord that usually held it bound in a tail behind him. In the light of the moon, his scar and savage, terrible eyes so clearly seen even when all else of his face was hidden from view, he looked like one of the mythical monsters that sailors often speak of roaming the wild waves, eager to feast on the souls of the wicked that dare to trust their fates to the untamed sea.

His own crew shuddered in the aftermath of the battle as Jaquard spun around to face them, and none dared to stand in his way as he stormed to his quarters and slammed the door. Normally, while Jaquard was a fiery sort, as wild at times as the sea on which he rode, he seldom lost complete control as he just had. It was the lust for battle that had deprived him of his reason, and more than that, the need to face and defeat, and perhaps to slay, the one who had trained him to be one of the greatest swordsmen of the age, long ago, when they had been friends.

The Venom had come under steadily increasing fire as of late. This was not too terribly surprising in itself, as Jaquard had rather recently hit the big time of piracy, having finally made a true name for himself in a profession where fame ensured both fortune and also a great likelihood of never reaching old age. No ship or coastal settlement was safe from his ravaging horde of cutthroats, and had he bothered to cut notches into his ship to mark the number of his enemies, he would soon have had to swim. Tonight, it had been professional pirate hunters, men made up of as many nations and nationalities as the men they hunted. The day before, it had been the English. Who would it be tomorrow? The French, perhaps? The English again? The Spanish? The Dutch? Who could say. Jaquard did not trouble himself with such things, for they would only lead to worries, and as the captain of the feared and famed Venom, Jaquard du Sang already had much to worry about, without considering the inevitability of conflict with the navies of the whole world.

It was as Jaquard du Sang lay on his bed, such thoughts running through his head, that he felt himself growing calm once more, a slow, sly smile spreading across his handsome vulpine face.

"No," he said to the darkness of the captain's quarters, where he was sure the Devil himself was waiting to hear, and thus to add further sins to Jaquard's ledger in Hell, "not the whole world. Just the Caribbean. There are no limits for one who dares to brave the far horizon and worlds yet unknown."

*

"Pondicherry," sighed Dupleix, shaking his hound's head mournfully over the paperwork piled high on his desk, making his long ears wobble. "Riviera of the East, or so they tell me. Reward for many years of success, or so they say. They have whispered to me that I am a genius in business, a favorite with the natives, and sure to win support, fame, and fortune wherever I turn my keen business acumen. 'They' can go rot in Hell, right along with the British, Dutch, Marathans, and all the rest!"

Governor Joseph-François, Marquis Dupleix, was a stately and not-unattractive Artois hound. Though his shoulders were a bit narrow, and his height somewhat lacking, he was nevertheless in excellent condition, though the stress of French India's many trials lay heavy on those middling shoulders. He had not bothered on this day to wear his powdered wig, normal for when he appeared in public, for he felt, somehow, that it would not matter before too long, and in the heat of India, it was largely a waste anyway.

Standing just behind her husband was the stately, cream-coated figure of Madame Jeanne Dupleix. She was a Brittany spaniel, her fur normally of orange-and-white, but she took great pains to always look her best, and powdered her fur to keep its entirety the dainty cream color so prized among the high-born women of France, and made sure to keep her relatively short hair done up properly, a matter which kept her many serving girls terribly busy at the start of a day. Madame Dupleix, known to the natives as Joanna Begum, rested a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder, leaning forward to nuzzle the agitated man's cheek affectionately before he was able to properly work himself into one of his famed - and much-feared! - fits of fury.

"Come, dear Joseph," she said in her soothing voice, the governor's tensions slowly starting to leave his body the moment he heard his wife speak, "things are certainly bad, but there are yet things we can do to remedy our situation. We are not lost yet, not even against those greedy British mongrels."

"You have a plan, then, Jeanne?" Governor Dupleix inquired, looking over his shoulder at his dear and clever wife. "A way to save us from looming disaster?"

"Of course," answered the spaniel mildly, before turning her head to the door of the office, along with her husband, as a knock was heard. "Enter!" she called out.

From the hallway came the tall, muscular, slightly portly figure of a black bear dressed in the white clothes and turban of one of high rank among the native Indians, his forehead dabbed with the marks of a true Hindu, which he made sure to flaunt before the devoted Christian Mme. Dupleix at every opportunity. This was Ananda Ranga Pillai, one of the dubashes, or translators, of the French East India Company. More specifically, he was chief translator for Governor Dupleix, unofficially at least, since the recent troubles had delayed his official appointment. Although neither Pillai nor Mme. Dupleix liked the other much, they recognized that this was a time of crisis, and not one for airing the grievances that they had against each other, so they were willing to keep themselves quietly contained for the time being, focusing instead on more important matters. At times like this, few would have dared to face the governor as he worked himself into one of his towering rages, but Jeanne dared, and so long as Mme. Dupleix was there to keep her husband calm, Ananda dared.

"As Memsahib has requested," said the ursine translator with a low, respectful bow to the governor at his desk, "the specialist that you required is here. Shall I show him in?"

"Please do so," said Mme. Dupleix with an imperious gesture to the Hindu. "I doubt his sort enjoy being kept waiting for long."

When Pillai had left, Jeanne explained quickly to her husband the essentials of her plan, while Governor Dupleix listened attentively, his expression calm and serious, taking in her words with all the care and attention one might expect from a master of commerce like Dupleix. The plan, in fact, was not too far off from his own plans, for he had been casting about for some way to properly fight against the British, the Dutch, and the accursed Marathan pirates that beset French India. He had been planning on using mercenaries, though he had been hard-up for choices at that point, with his lines of communication stretched far too thin to make his desires easily known among the first-rate fighters. However, he could see his wife's cleverness in this matter, for after all, who was better to fight pirates than others of their own kind?

Pillai soon pushed the door to the office open, bowing respectfully as he motioned the tall, muscular, and roguishly handsome figure beyond inside.

"Captain Jaquard du Sang, of the ship Venom," Pillai introduced the dark-haired fox who strode into the room with the confidence of one used to commanding, whatever his circumstances might be.

For a long, suspended moment, nobody said anything. Jaquard, for his part, seemed content to simply stand near the middle of the room, before the large, paper-piled desk of Governor Dupleix, his hands resting casually as his sides, his stance deceptively relaxed. Any trained fighter of experience and insight would have quickly noticed that Jaquard du Sang's relaxed posture kept his hands within easy reach of the sword and knife he wore openly on his belt, and even more ready to burst into action, whether to fight or for flight, at an instant's notice.

Pillai, knowing that he was not truly needed here, save as a witness, and perhaps to call for the palace guards in case the situation turned less than civil, stayed near the door, out of the direct line of attention of the other three inhabitants of the large office. Of course, in this last case, if the pirate du Sang had any sense, he would try to kill the dubash first, but though he was many things, Ananda was no coward and he was certainly no fool. If it came to that, the black bear would do his best to fulfill his duty, even if it meant his demise.

Governor Dupleix spent this long moment simply looking at du Sang, his emotions mixed. On the one hand, this was a notorious pirate. Not just any pirate at that: this was Jaquard du Sang! Du Sang was known for skill in battle, unorthodox strategic mastery, for courage, and for having killed more French than Dupleix cared to think of. This was no loyal subject of the French crown masquerading as a pirate for sake of international appearances. Oh no, du Sang was as bloody as his surname implied, and so far as Dupleix could tell, his only motive was profit. Normally such a vile creature would never have seen the inside of the governor's palace, unless it was on his way to an execution. But these were dangerous times, and where all others who might have helped Dupleix were absent from the room, where they should have been had they wished to take his coin in exchange for their service, du Sang was here. A bird in the hand, mused Dupleix to himself as he shuffled a few bits of paper on his desk, documents that would be needed to officially give the wicked fox the protection of the French crown while in Pondicherry.

Madame Jeanne Dupleix kept her silence for quite different reasons than either her translator or her husband. Normally, she might have spoken up, having always been the sort to take charge when there seemed to be a need for it, when the courage of others failed them. Right now, however, Jeanne drew out her fan and began to wave it before her face, obscuring all but her eyes, for as those doe-soft brown eyes played over the wicked pirate's body and roguishly handsome face, she felt quite suddenly and quite unaccountably hot, the blood rushing to her powder-pale face, making her grateful for the layer of makeup to disguise the flush she knew was surely spreading over her body.

"So," said Jaquard with a mocking smirk, resting his hands rakishly on his hips, "you wanted to see me about a job, monsieur governor?"

"Yes," answered Governor Dupleix, the distaste obvious in his voice, heightened still more by the arrogance of the pirate for having spoken first when his betters were in the room. "It seems that the French crown has need of aid in this distant part of the world in fighting the many enemies of France and the French East Indies Company." His brow darkened. "And my enemies as well. For your services, we are willing and able to compensate you, and the compensation will not be meager by any means."

Contrary to what the governor had expected, rather than having the surely money-grubbing pirate leap at the merest hint of the riches to be gained both from plunder and also from the French, to say nothing of the surety of safety in French-owned territory, du Sang just smirked a little more widely.

"Come come," said du Sang in a mocking tone. "I doubt that the brave troops of the Sun King could possibly have trouble with the locals. Why call upon one of my specialized talents when there are certainly any number of brave fighting men both willing and eager to have their blood spilt in the service of their great nation."

"You sound like my advisers," answered Dupleix with a bitter smirk of his own. "But unlike those baboons, you are foreign and yet ignorant of this country, so I can forgive your ignorance." The governor paused a moment, collecting his thoughts as well as allowing his words time to sink into du Sang's mind, before he suddenly burst into a tirade, one that had been long in coming, for Dupleix had needed someone on whom he could vent his troubles; du Sang was it. "Imagine a subcontinent, big like Europe, and all under the rule of one single man! Have you seen the true extent of the power this empire possesses? Well, I have. The Great Moghul himself was kind enough to show me his superiority. The land was black to the horizon with his army: foot-troops, archers, gunmen, riders, elephants, cannons the Gran Seigneur in Constantinople would be jealous of. One gesture from this one ruler, and we are altogether swept from this continent. Fortunately, nom de Dieu, he needs the money he earns with us."

For a moment Dupleix seemed spent of his ill humors, his whole body slumping slightly in his chair. Dupleix looked on the hound, and actually found it within him to feel pity for a man, hardly into the middle part of his life, who had been aged by the job he had been given to fulfill. It was something superhuman, having to manage French interests in this wild and exotic country, with empires, like that of the Great Moghul, that had been around since France had only been composed of warring tribes. That Dupleix had lasted as long as he had indicated a true and rare talent, perhaps even genius. But the full use of that talent in this deadly place came with a terrible cost.

"I have only just enough," continued Dupleix after he had collected himself, "to hold onto what I already have. Even that, however, is stretched to the breaking point. With the added pressures of Dutch, English, and even the native Marathan pirates weighing down on my resources, already stretched right to their limits, it is only a matter of time before everything that I have worked so hard to gain and to maintain will snap, and me along with it." The hound glared at du Sang, almost as though the fox were the cause of the troubles that beset the beleaguered colonial governor. "Believe me, I wouldn't want your help if I could do without it, Jaquard du Sang. I know all about what you've done; even in this part of the world, the blood of the French you've spilled has spoken with a voice like thunder. But the thunder of ship cannons is louder still, as are the cries of those many who I am charged with protecting, who are now put to the sword." He pushed a slim sheaf of documents across the table towards du Sang. "A safe harbor and gold is what I offer for your services," the governor said with emphasis. "Surely you can see the wisdom of having both, and perhaps more as you prove your worth."

This time the fox's smirk was less mocking, and had instead taken a more pitying air. The blood-soaked pirate stepped forward, one hand resting on the sheaf of papers while his eyes swept over them, taking in the specifics with a subtle skill and thoroughness that made the master trader, Dupleix, arch an eyebrow in admiration. As he read, the other three occupants of the room held their breaths.

"Perhaps," said du Sang after some long moments of consideration. "I will need to think about this. It has been a very long time since I have considered myself a French subject, and there is...bad blood in my past. Still, your terms are generous, and we are, as you have implied, quite far from the power of Europe." The fox slid the papers back across the desk to Dupleix. "Here, hold these for me while I weigh my options. Perhaps I shall return soon." Then he shrugged, his smirk mocking once more. "Or perhaps I will not return at all. It all depends on my mood."

So saying, the rakish pirate turned and walked from the room with all the arrogant dignity of the Sun King himself, for all that he was dressed in nowhere near that luminary's finery. This left the three potentates of French Indochina alone and bewildered in the room, obviously at a loss for what to do next. Though none of them wanted to admit it, certainly not to du Sang himself, du Sang had been their last hope in these trying times. There would be help coming, certainly, reinforcements from France, and additional privateers with more loyalty to France than this vulpine rake certainly had. But that wouldn't be for months, perhaps even years. If they didn't get du Sang's help here and now, by the time help arrived, there very well might not be a French Indochina for them to support.

"I will talk to him," said Jeanne Dupleix suddenly, starting towards the door, which Pillai opened for her, the spaniel's skirts loudly swishing about her as she walked with haste. "Perhaps I can accomplish with a woman's subtlety what could not be accomplished with promises of wealth and safe harbor."

"Be careful, Jeanne," Governor Dupleix called after his wife, not rising from his place at the large desk where the weight of the world rested, demanding his attention. "You cannot trust these pirates, and du Sang is one of the most dangerous."

"When am I anything but careful, my husband?" Mme. Dupleix said with a laugh back at her husband, before Pillai shut the door behind her as she swept down the long hallway after Jaquard du Sang.

*

The heat of the day was lessened somewhat by the cool shade and sparkling fountains of the gardens that covered much of the grounds of the governor's mansion. So often at sea, Jaquard had long ago found that, on those few occasions when he was landbound, he could think best in naturalistic settings, away from the distractions of civilization. This by no means meant that he intended to spend his life as a hermit, for Jaquard du Sang was no empty intellectual, focused on thought more than action, but at times he found it was useful to clear his head by withdrawing from others for a time and focusing instead on things of a more primal nature.

Kneeling to gently stroke his fingertips along the stem of a beautiful tropical bloom that seemed almost to glow like fire in the flickering light that filtered through the trees, Jaquard considered his options. Certainly, it would be to his advantage to have the aid of some colonial power here in India, providing safe ports and easy provisioning, besides the opportunity for booty and more legitimate rewards from a grateful government. At this point, it seemed very likely that the French were in such a state that they would gladly overlook the activities of the Venom, past, present, and future, provided that du Sang and his pirates came through for them in their time of need. Only two things made Jaquard pause and consider. The first, the most practical, was that Jaquard knew that, as soon as French Indochina was free of its enemies, he and his pirates would find themselves on the run once again. Of course, this contained the presupposition that the French would, in fact, ever be free of their many enemies, and Jaquard found this unlikely, though whether the French would see it that way was another matter. For Jaquard, however, the second of his two hesitations was of far greater weight: it was servants of the French crown who had slain his family and had driven him to his present life. Sometimes the memory made Jaquard's blood boil, and he would sometimes deliberately dredge up those dark memories of the past when he needed the strength that only raw fury could conjure.

"What demons trouble your soul, my dear du Sang?" asked a pleasant female voice in the lightly musical tones of a native speaker's French.

Rising, du Sang turned to meet the approaching Jeanne Dupleix, his eyes appraising her, making the French noblewoman pause as she felt herself being measured by that steady, bold gaze. It was worse than being naked under those eyes! The rogue, du Sang, seemed to be weighing her very soul in the balance. Still, Jeanne was here for a purpose, and she would not be deterred, not even by the momentary shivers of fear that the notorious pirate sent through her body.

"Just Jaquard, Madame Dupleix," said Jaquard with a pleasant smile, his entire face seeming to change from menacing to charming in a single instant. Even the jagged scar along one side of his face just served to make the fox seem rakish, dangerous, exciting. Jeanne lifted her fan as she continued to approach, waving it to cool herself from a sudden rush of heat that flooded her cheeks, thankfully hidden by the white powder on her face that was intended to make her look more like the poodles of the royal family, as was the fashion in the Sun King's court.

"Then I suppose that you may call me Jeanne," Jeanne answered in kind, returning the pirate's smile as she held out her hand, covering her blushing face with her fan as Jaquard bent and brushed his lips very lightly over the back. "I hope you do not mind the intrusion, dear Jaquard. I simply had to get out of the palace for a while. It can be so stuffy in there at times."

"I can imagine," said Jaquard, offering Jeanne his arm, which she took, before he started to walk through the garden, allowing her to set the pace of their walk, and also to lead him as she chose. "It must be difficult, having to hold up an entire colony, as well as its ruler."

"But surely you feel a similar weight," answered Jeanne, looking up at Jaquard as they walked, letting her body draw close to his, her petticoat brushing against his neatly-pressed sailor's breeches, feeling a shiver run through her as she felt the steely mound of his bicep beneath the cloth of his sleeve. "A similar responsibility. After all," she reached a hand up, stroking her fingertips over his shoulder, "the lives of your crew rest on these broad shoulders. So it is also with me, and my people here in India. I cannot spare thoughts for myself, Jaquard: I would do anything to keep them and my dear husband safe. Being of noble blood yourself, you understand the weight of rulership all the more keenly."

"I am afraid you mistake, Madame: 'du Sang' is only my nom du guerre," Jacquard corrected the highborn woman, his eyes flashing for a moment with a deep inner fire at the dark memories momentarily brought to the fore of his brain by her words, mistaking the 'du' in his surname for a mark of noble blood, some presently-lapsed title in his ancestry. "My true family name was lost long ago to the King's dragoons. But as for feeling the heavy burdens of your duties, I do not doubt it, my dear Jeanne," continued Jaquard as his expression softened, the fire in his eyes fading to a distant but still ever-present smoldering, turning his head only slightly to look at the wife of the governor, admiring the highborn spaniel's pretty, delicate-featured face, her mature, womanly beauty visible even through the powder and the high white hairstyle she wore. "I do believe you care deeply for your people. For me, I have only my friends, the ones that are before me at all times to care for. You, though, must care for the lives of people that you may never see, and who may never know the source from which any goodness in their lives comes." He stopped, then, and turned to face her, Jeanne turning as well with all the grace she'd learned in her time in Europe with its waltzes. "Your motherly attention makes you beautiful, Jeanne," said Jaquard, his expression tender.

"I am called the mother of my nation by some, it is true," she replied, looking down, blushing fiercely under Jaquard's bold gaze. "But I am still a woman, and I have a woman's weaknesses." Her eyes lifted then, and, filled with a spirit of boldness, she reached out, stroking one delicate hand over Jaquard's strong, broad chest, which she could see clearly filled out his shirt very nicely. There was no need for padding to fill out the clothing of Jaquard du Sang: he was more than adequate as a specimen of masculinity to do all the filling on his own. "Sometimes...sometimes I feel the need for someone with strength. Someone who can lend me some of theirs." Then she stepped away from Jaquard, breaking her contact with his beautiful body. "But I cannot ask for such things, Jaquard. It would show my weakness for all to see, and then I would lose the trust of my people, of my husband."

The words and gestures and the light touch were all a part of the game of courtly flirtation. It was a game that Jeanne knew well, and had played many times, especially during her first marriage when she'd been back in Europe. It had been a while since she'd put her courtly skills to use since she'd married Joseph and come to India, but time had not diminished her talents in the least. She knew how to excite just that lightest flare of desire in a man, and how to show her most vulnerable self, all without quite going too far, implying more than what was intended. Of course, Jaquard, being a Frenchman, would understand, would know not to cross those boundaries of social nicety. At the same time, he would still feel the need of a man to protect and nurture a woman in her time of need. It was the perfect way to gain Jaquard's loyalty, to ensure that he would come to the aid of French Indochina.

What Jeanne did not consider, however, was that it had been a very long time since Jaquard had been in France. A very long time indeed.

With a sudden gasp, Jeanne looked up, wide-eyed, at Jaquard as he closed the distance between them, not giving her the time she'd needed to begin to make her gentle entreaties, to subtly hint at how his aid could relieve her of some of the pressures of her position. Subtle hints and tantalizing coquetry. No, Jaquard would have none of that, his actions cutting through all her delicate social niceties like a broadsword through lace as he pulled her to him, his hands irresistible as he held her close, her face beautiful as she looked up at him in shock and fright, her own hands now pressing lightly against his chest, half-heartedly trying to push herself away from this handsome brute that, she realized with a start, intended to relieve her of other pressures of a far more scandalous nature.

"You can show your weakness to me, Jeanne," said Jaquard in his beautiful, manly voice, making the spaniel's legs go weak beneath her petticoat and skirt. "We are far from anyone else who might see or dare to judge you for indulging them."

Her back now pressed against a waist-high wall at the base of a tall tree, Jeanne opened her mouth, though whether it was to call for help, to command Jaquard to unhand her, or to ask him to continue, she would never know. The moment her lips parted, Jaquard was pressing his lips to hers, making her legs tremble, her whole body go weak. Then his tongue invaded her mouth, caressing her own tongue with sweet, erotic skill, and Jeanne's eyes rolled back into her head, her reason leaving her. And those hands. Those hands! They were everywhere! Never in all her years had Jeanne felt such passions from any male, and she was powerless to resist the wicked pirate's raw animal magnetism.

Vaguely, Jeanne was aware of the tod's hands on her back, deftly unlacing her dress in a motion it was obvious he had long ago perfected. Untying knots, after all, was a skill known to all sailors worth their salt. A gentle tug, and Jeanne felt her dress with its many frilly petticoats falling to the dust of the secluded pathway, making her shiver at the feeling of the breeze against her bare shoulders, her chemise and drawers all that remained to cover her body. Then, as du Sang gripped the waist of the simple cloth garment covering her upper body, and pulled the light, loose garment downward, then tearing it off in a moment of savagery, Jeanne gasped in her rising passion as her powder-white breasts bounced free, their tan nipples standing out proudly in her arousal. After the children she'd borne her two husbands, the spaniel sported a fine pair of breasts, with large, round, dark aureoles that had grown fat from much suckling. Now the mouths of her pups, each long weaned, were replaced by the lusty, talented tongue and lips of the adroit fox, who seized each of Jeanne's breasts in his expert hands, stroking her full mounds gently at first, then, sensing her urgent needs, squeezing down tightly until her nipples felt as though they'd explode, before his muzzle closed on her delicate flesh, hungrily _gnawing_on her sensitive body like a starved wild animal, until Jeanne couldn't hold back her cries of passion and pleasure. She felt herself reaching that peak of pleasure which neither of her husbands had managed more than a handful of times in all her years of marriage, and yet which this wicked rogue had managed simply by ravishing her bosom.

In that moment of weakness, as Jeanne was only just starting to come down from the euphoria of her orgasm, she squealed like a spanked puppy when Jaquard's hand seized her shoulder, roughly turning her and then forcing her to bend forward, over the waist-high, smooth-topped rock wall. She dared to look back at him with her soft, doe-brown eyes, which widened in shock and excitement as he gripped the waist of her drawers and jerked them down to her ankles in a single smooth movement, baring her powdered white bottom. He was like an animal, a savage beast straight from the jungle! This thought gripped Jeanne's imagination as she saw his hand move down to his breeches, tugging them open, a high-pitched whimper forced from her throat as she saw exactly what he intended to put inside of her: she'd seen Roman statues in the Louvre of Hercules that were less well-endowed! And as he began to rub his swollen tip against her flushed, heavily-leaking lower lips, Jeanne couldn't keep from squirming on the stone wall, moaning like some cheap Oriental prostitute at one of the old Indian temples of pleasure.

If she'd squealed before, Jeanne wailed and howled like a wolf rather than a modest, civilized spaniel, when Jaquard moved both his strong hands to her nicely-rounded bare bottom, and plowed himself into her with gusto! Clawing at the stone beneath her, Jeanne felt her whole body betray her as the wicked pirate ravished her soul with each thrust of his mighty penis. It was only her soul that he ravished, however: her body was more than willing. The primal nature of what he was doing to her...and what she was willingly doing to him as she thrust her hips back with answering enthusiasm, made Jeanne's mind reel, her senses overwhelmed with sensation. He wasn't gentle with her, and she didn't want him to be gentle. What Jeanne needed, without even knowing how badly she needed it, was to have all her power taken away, to be seized and dominated by a cruel and merciless savage, bent over and mounted, and vigorously humped like some brute beast. With Jaquard's powerful hands squeezing her plush, rounded rump tightly in his grip, pressing her cheeks together to better add grip around his rapidly pistoning shaft, Jeanne's whole body rocked forward and back, her breasts rubbing against the smooth stone of the wall's top until she felt as though she would scream at any moment. And when he picked up his speed even more, she did scream, long and loud, clawing at the dirt at the base of the tree enclosed by the circular wall in her passion.

For a moment, Jeanne blacked out, her body and brain simply too overwrought with pleasure to allow her to continue functioning. When next she opened her eyes, it was as Jaquard was standing over her, while she was kneeling in the dust of the isolated trail, her full breasts heaving as she panted hard. Looking up at the proud pirate, Jeanne realized she must look like one of the captive maidens this wicked rogue surely had taken as prizes over the years of his bloodstained career, ravished and enslaved to the lusts of this vile brute. The thought made the white-powdered spaniel's whole body shudder, her inner thighs quivering. Then her eyes drifted downward as Jaquard's hand gripped Jeanne's hair, spoiling her perfect coiffure, and she gasped once more as he pulled her face roughly toward his immense, still glistening shaft. It was glistening with her juices, Jeanne realized with a start, and she almost turned her head to the side as he brought it up to her muzzle. His grip on her hair was firm, however, and the helpless Frenchwoman could only whimper once more as he teased the swollen glans against her lips.

It was those eyes that finally defeated her will. Looking up into those stormy eyes, flashing with fire and passion, Jeanne could only whimper softly, before her lips parted, and she bent her head forward, engulfing as much of the fox's prodigious length as she could manage. Feeling his fingers entwining in her hair, Jeanne let herself be guided by this strong, virile male, yielding herself completely to his powers. She'd learned about the art of fellatio from her nursemaid when she was a little girl in India, who had been a rather promiscuous young woman, and though the nursemaid didn't intend to teach her young charge so much, Jeanne had peeped on the young woman on several occasions, learning quite enough to easily land herself her first husband as well as her second. Time and practice had perfected her technique in a skill which circumstance and chance had bestowed, and Jeanne had learned that, though the ancient Greeks and Romans had thought oral sex was one of the most depraved and degrading of acts, because it deprived the one on whom it was performed of the ability to speak, ranking it below sodomy in "dirtiness," she was able to say quite a bit through the use of properly-applied lips and tongue, and often far more than other women of her standing. Now, however, instead of granting her power, Jeanne felt her power taken away as she moved her tongue over the underside of the thick, rigid length of manflesh in her short spaniel muzzle. Everything about Jaquard radiated dominance and power, and Jeanne couldn't resist him, couldn't even begin to try. His grip on her hair just drove home her total submission to his will, and the thought made her heady, even as she was forced to taste her own juices on his length, and then to clean herself off of his beautiful, powerful organ. Bobbing her head as quickly as she dared, Jeanne often went too far in her eagerness to please the pirate, choking herself more than once only to pull back and then plunge forward once more, never stopping her rapidly-thrusting muzzle. Soon Jaquard's own hips started to buck, and Jeanne didn't restrain herself as she squeezed her nipples between her fingers, that last added stimulation enough to cause her own final orgasm to come upon her at the same time that her muzzle was flooded with the thick, rich, potent seed of Jaquard du Sang.

Pulling back at the last moment, Jaquard smirked as he let the last spurt of his cum mar the pretty round face of the lovely wife of Governor Dupleix, marking her as his own property rather than her husband's. It was a fetching look, he thought as he buttoned his breeches, and he decided he might have to seek after more unsatisfied wives in future. Normally du Sang would have been more gentle, or spent more time on foreplay, or mounted Mme. Dupleix from the front, "missionary style," but he'd quickly discovered that Jeanne Dupleix didn't want his gentleness, his affectionate embraces, or his skill as an accomplished lover. She wanted to be held down and ravished by a brutal, wicked pirate captain, taken and degraded and used like a common gutter trollop. Looking at her now, kneeling, naked, on the dusty trail, panting hard, her eyes heavy-lidded, almost asleep from the pleasure that had riven her body and mind and soul, Jaquard couldn't help but feel rather proud of himself: he'd more than lived up to his reputation for this lovely, though slightly faded, French flower in the rough of India.

"You had best freshen up," the pirate captain remarked as he swept off his coat and gallantly covered the good Madame's nakedness, before he turned his back on the still-panting governor's wife, his eyes flicking down to the rather copious amount of juices leaking from her well-used pink places onto the dusty trail. "Be sure you are presentable before you make your reappearance in the mansion."

"Wait!" Jeanne called out, making Jaquard pause and then turn to look back at her over his shoulder. "The contract...are you with us?"

"Ever the professional," laughed Jaquard before he turned away once more and began to walk back toward the mansion. "Never fear: you have convinced me to serve your cause. I will sign."